


The Blossom Family Process

by ccuddlefish



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, F/F, Lovecraftian, Mentions of conversion therapy, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-20 10:03:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16553699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccuddlefish/pseuds/ccuddlefish
Summary: Cheryl Blossom lived a life both blessed and cursed. It seemed that whatever hung the scales, whichever divine power influenced the lives of the billions of humans on this earth, had her balanced on the tip of a knife. Joy and grief followed each other closely, tightly entwined like two sides of an eternally revolving coin.The non-con tag refers to Cheryl recalling her experience with Nick St. Clair and nothing else.Inspired by HPL Mythos, Eternal Darkness, those Miskatonic University crates, and ‘The Dweller in Darkness’ by Wagontrain!





	1. Part I: The Call

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Just some housekeeping- this is my first Riverdale fic so please be kind. The title is a work in progress, subject to change. If anyone has suggestions on a title i’d love them, i’ve never really been good at that. The fic is set during the last few episodes of season 2 but diverges away from Riverdale canon before Season 3. It will mostly focus on Choni and Cheryl but the Core 4 and Pussycats will of course make cameos. I will add characters to the description when they appear and tags are subject to change as well. 
> 
> I decided to include the noncon tag for people who are triggered by that but the only thing that happens here is Cheryl recalling her experience with Nick. I do not fetishize noncon and past mentions of it will only appear when I feel it is tasteful and necessary.
> 
> I wrote this because the Blossom Family heritage and just Cheryl’s personality in general makes her a super compelling Lovecraftian protagonist. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Cheryl Blossom lived a life both blessed and cursed. It seemed that whatever hung the scales, whichever divine power influenced the lives of the billions of humans on this earth, had her balanced on the tip of a knife. Joy and grief followed each other closely, tightly entwined like two sides of an eternally revolving coin. 

The Blossom family’s trade was maple syrup, as cloyingly sweet as it was heavy and dark. Cheryl had always shivered when her mother referred to it as their bloodline. The imagery was frightening enough, of course, sugar clotting her arteries and dripping from her skin. But that wasn’t why she hated it so. Cheryl thought of the cold, dark, sticky substance that filled the barrels in the storage barns at the edge of the Blossom property and felt something ancient and strange inside her chest respond. Sometimes, her dreams had her slit open her wrists only to find that sickly saccharine substance pouring from her wounds. The heavy oak barrels stacked like ancient columns in incomprehensible patterns were indescribably old but well-cared for, somehow. No splinters entered her hands when she held them, and her mother said the strange warmth that pulsed from them was just a byproduct of the Blossom Family’s unique process. She believed her mother, at that time, when she was fourteen years old and choking herself down into the perfect daughter. What else was she to do? 

Cheryl needed to believe her mother’s lies. Why else would she fastidiously prune her wants, needs, desires so that she grew small and twisted, just like Penelope had? For a while, things seemed promising. Cheryl lied to Heather, told her she never wanted to see her again. She spent hours practicing her mother’s revolted sneer in the mirror, trying on her Maple Red lipstick. She only cried sometimes, and always into her pillow, leaving mascara marks that looked just like the erratic death throes of butterflies drowning in ink. 

In her dreams, she was the butterfly, but she would not drown in the river of refined sugar, no matter how heavy it was. No matter what pulled at her wings, how many hands, suckers, or pedipalps it possessed. 

Her mother started to smile at her. Her father praised her head for business. Her Nana Rose seemed to notice a change, but the Alzheimers made it so she could barely swim through her own thoughts long enough to voice any opposition to Cheryl’s new outlook. Just when it seemed like her family was starting to heal, to become a family again, her father shot her twin brother in the head and left his body to drain in a dark basement like so much refuse. The coin was flipped. Cheryl was trying to prove something, that any man could be hers, even the aloof socialite from New York. She loved the control it gave her, the way he took her hand, looked at her adoringly. And then she was trapped in her body, watching the world swim as he reached down for her dress, desperately wanting to scream even though her voice was entombed in her throat. The coin flipped. She was poised to inherit the family fortune, her only means of escape from the leaden grip of her mother, until her father’s long lost twin waltzed into her home and sent her away to a place so lightless she forgot what the sun looked like. And it flipped again, over and over. She began to forget which side was which. 

The days with the Sisters were gruelling, as she forced her aching muscles to move boxes, bags of flour, whatever the Sisters had decided she was to toil over today. Despite the way it made her body ache, it was nothing compared to the “therapy” sessions, feeling the saline itch under her skin, choking back the acidic taste of vomit as images of womanhood flashed before her eyes. The click of the slide projector was like a deadly metronome, metering her torture into neat units of half-seconds. The bodies in front of her ceased to look human after a while, blurring together into eyes and lips and legs in unholy configurations as Cheryl dripped puke onto her lap and prayed that unconsciousness would come sooner rather than later. 

She didn’t want to admit it, but being here made her feel sick. Like she really was everything her mother said she was: a monster, sinful, a mistake of nature. It didn’t help that she began to have the most vivid dreams at night, the most realistic hallucinations during the day. Every dark hallway writhed with alien life, the edges of her vision seething red. Nighttime had her tossing and turning, scratching her nails to stubs until her arms bled. She saw a limitless void, alien constellations flying by, until she was plunging into Sweetwater River, stained red with syrupy sweet blood. She was a butterfly in a river, in a jar, under a surgeon’s bright light as her father and mother plucked her legs off one by one. Sleep ceased to be a respite, just seemingly endless dreams layered in and around each other in fractal patterns that she didn’t understand. 

A few nights of this, and the coin flipped again. She was lying with a huge steel pin through her heart, stuck fast to that awful bed in the Five Seasons, feeling the silk sheets under her, Nick’s rough hand approaching her thigh. Before he could touch her, he was yanked backwards, thrown into a wall. Veronica looked like an avenging angel in her little black dress and stiletto heels, spurring Melody and Valerie onwards to revenge. Josie slipped into the room after them, heading for Cheryl. Her gentle elfin face was full of concern as she sat next to Cheryl, reaching for her arm. For a moment, Cheryl thought she saw Josie’s flawless dark skin shine from within, lighting the world up blue. Her graceful fingers reached for the pin, wrapping around it and wrenching upwards until Cheryl could feel her own body again, unanchored. The pin dissolved into nothing as she watched Valerie’s Jimmy Choo come down on Nick’s jaw. She felt satisfaction curl in her chest as they rained blows down on him, their sharp heels cutting his flesh, breaking his ribs, his fingers with sickening crackles. Above her, Josie was cradling her to her chest, and Cheryl buried her face in her neck, feeling her soft skin and smelling her sugary perfume. Her graceful neck smelled like lavender. Outside the door, she heard Nick’s last gasp as his neck snapped. Josie stroked her delicate fingers over Cheryl’s shoulder, whispering sweetly in her ear. Cheryl felt her heart flutter. 

“Oh, Darling. You’re safe now, love. I’ve got you.” Josie sighed into her ear, pressing a feather-light kiss to her jawbone. She continued to speak with no change in tone, talking to Cheryl like she was something very dear to her heart. Cheryl relaxed in her grip, smiling happily, letting the tender care wash over her. “You are meant for something bigger than this. Your life is but a ripple in the ocean of the universe. Fulfill your path. Wake the dreamer, as I have woken you.” 

“Josie...?” Cheryl could feel the confusion through the layers of numbing drugs only just beginning to wear thin. She pulled back for a moment, looking to Josie for an explanation. What was she saying?  
But as soon as she lifted her head the world dissolved and she was looking at someone else. The scene had changed, she was in her own bed, enclosed in its protective canopy. At the foot, the Vixens slumbered. Toni was across from her, smiling dazzlingly. They were achingly close, breath mingling. Cheryl smiled and kissed her. This time, no loud noise came from outside to interrupt them. Toni held her tightly and-

She woke, gasping for air. 

Cheryl was not watching the “movie.” She could barely see the shape of the predator stalking across the screen. It was always the same, the script unfolding like the clockwork of her life. The greedy spider seduced the innocent fly. Lured them to a second location. Defiled them. The Sisters liked to pretend she was the fly, naively mislead into a life of sin, but she somehow knew she was the spider. For better or worse, she was the thing parents warned their children about. 

She felt something wet on her cheek and realized she was crying, her shoulders shaking, her nose running. The world writhed and swam around her, but she kept her head forward, her body still. The Sisters didn’t like anything but rapt attention to their propaganda. The spider(or was it a man?) stalked across the screen again, reaching its clacking mandibles for the skin of the boy, rending him apart as he screamed. That was strange. This film was different, even though Cheryl had already seen them all. The Sisters ran them on a loop, the same every movie night. She had the rhythms memorized. Right now, the innocent schoolboys should be undressing by the river, naive shines in their eyes. The man(or was it a spider?) devoured the fly- no, the boy- while he was still alive, sobbing, feebly scratching at the beast’s limbs(were they limbs? they moved wrong, too fluid) even though he knew they would not release him. The beast(or was it her?) licked its chops and smiled, wide and white. It turned its face to her, eight eyes glittering maliciously.

“Cheryl?” A voice called. Toni. The voice was full of fear, concern, love. She felt her heart batter itself against her ribcage like it was trying to escape, to run to her. But it wasn’t Toni. She couldn’t be here. This was another hallucination, another freakish fever dream. She had one every night, and sometimes even during the day when the light was wrong and loneliness threatened to suffocate her. Cheryl choked down the urge to call to her, shaking violently. 

“It’s not her.” The beast(for it was not a spider anymore, it was something big but also small, here but elsewhere, with too many eyes and too many hands) called to her, and it pierced her mind, nailing her to the wooden church pew like a crucifixion. She was whimpering, and it was all she could do. For once in her life, she felt like the fly. 

“It will never be her. You’re ours, Oracle. Do not forget.” The beast’s voice vibrated through her bones, and in her bosom she felt something long buried wake up and uncurl. For a brief but eternal moment, she was back in her family’s barn. The rows of barrels suddenly seemed to snap into place, forming arcane shapes and impossible geometry. Her bloodline called to her.

“Cheryl!” Not-Toni called again. It ripped her from her daydream, slammed her back into her seat. She looked up to the ceiling, and almost felt she could see the starry sky. Of course, this was impossible, but still the new constellations spread themselves out for her. They were singing, she thought, though right now she could barely tell up from down. She locked her fingers in her lap and said a prayer to the sky, to whatever being had condemned her to this tumultuous fate.

Please, stop torturing me. She can’t be here. I don’t want to remember her voice. Don’t make me mourn for the life I could have had. Stop, please. 

She could feel the universe take in a breath, about to respond.

“Cheryl, are you in here?” The door banged open, hitting the wall with a thunderous crack. Cheryl’s head whipped up towards the noise, and the projector went blue. When the image returned, the beast was gone, the stars had stopped their keening. The universe went silent. There was nothing but the whirr of the projector, her quiet breaths. On the screen, two boys swam naked in Sweetwater River. A slight figure sprinted through the doorway, pink hair lighting up in the glow from the projector. Cheryl couldn’t process it for a moment, just stared at Toni in front of her, glowing like an angel, looking over the rows of faces seated sluggishly in front of the screen. She was dressed in black, down to the familiar creases of the leather Serpent jacket across her back. Her gaze landed on Cheryl, and she smiled breathlessly, beautifully, her eyes sparkling. She’d almost- not quite- forgotten her face, the warm round eyes with the long eyelashes, the capricious curve of her lips. Her warm brown skin seemed to glow in the light from the projector. This was real, Cheryl realized. Toni was solid, tangible, present.

“We came to rescue you.” Toni breathed. A few tears fell from Cheryl’s eyes, but that was it. 

“You did?” Cheryl felt like her chest was going to burst. Across the room, Toni nodded. The butterfly stopped struggling and found the strength to fly away. Cheryl scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping over herself on her way to Toni, reaching her arms in front of her. Toni caught her easily, pulling her into a tight hug. This was real. She could feel Toni’s heartbeat, in time with hers. The hands at her waist, tangled in her hair, were solid and warm. Toni was keeping her safe. She relaxed into her arms, feeling the other girl’s soft breath brush over her shoulder. Toni was pulling her head up now, gently guiding them together. Cheryl leaned down and closed the gap between them with an urgency she’d never felt before. Toni’s mouth was achingly soft, she could feel her own chapped lips scrape over it. She smiled into the kiss even as she could feel her hands trembling violently. Even after all the saline injections, the propaganda, the soul-crushing labor, this still felt right. Toni tasted sweet, and Cheryl could feel her lip gloss sticking to her own upper lip. They pulled back for a moment to breathe, pulses still racing, eyes meeting. She was really here. Nothing else mattered. Toni looked at her like she was the whole world and pulled her into another kiss, deeper than the first. The only thing that stopped them was Veronica’s voice, in the doorway. Reluctantly, they pulled apart, looking at Veronica. She was harried, breathing hard. Her getup was black like Toni’s, a little string of white pearls hanging over the window in the chest of the tight knit black top. Even though her mind was racing a million miles an hour, Cheryl still appreciated the dramatic flair in Veronica’s dress-up number. Almost as much as the cleavage. She suspected if she was tasked with rescuing one of her own friends from an illegal conversion therapy program in a nunnery, she’d have picked something similar. 

“Cheryl. Toni. There are a bunch of nuns coming. We have to go.” Veronica said in between ragged breaths. She paused afterwards to wipe sweat from her brow with the back of her sleeve. Her striking angular features were contorted with fear, and Cheryl noticed a smear of red lipstick from the corner of her lips. Veronica looked undone, which was unusual. What had she seen out there? Toni nodded and took Cheryl’s hand, holding her tightly. Cheryl didn’t want her to let go, not ever. 

And then she had a lifeline. A tether, holding her tight to this world. Antoinette had pulled her from the pit of despair and told her that she would be safe. That nobody would ever hurt her again. Not Clifford, not Claudius, not Nick. She didn’t tell Toni about the beast, the stars, the awful things she’d known in that moment where she was standing among the towers of syrup. It was folly. Hallucinations brought on by extreme emotional stress and horrifically abusive “therapy.” Cheryl was awfully good at keeping things buried, so that was what she did.


	2. Part 2: The Book

For a while after their daring escape from the Sisters of Quiet Mercy, Cheryl did not dream. She’d gone to a pharmacist in town, complained of not being able to sleep, and walked out with a filled prescription for sleeping pills. It was amazing what money could do, the weaselly little man behind the counter took one look at the wad of bills she’d pulled from her purse and seemed to forget about the “parental approval” rules posted behind him. She took the little white pills every night like clockwork, and the beast did not return. Thistlehouse did not warp and twist the way the Sisters had and the constellations she could see from her window remained familiar.

She was cast in the musical, as the starring role, until a child’s silly threat dethroned her. Even though she wasn’t playing Carrie anymore, the costume still served its purpose when she commandeered a candelabra and frightened the living daylights out of her miserable excuse for a mother. The witch and her uncle retreated to one of the barns, surrounded by those awful towers of pulsing syrup. With them still on the property, it was not a complete victory. She locked the house at night, but sometimes she could hear voices, songs, rising and falling across the wide green lawn. She was sure the unholy music originated in the barn, and she was terrified of what her mother and uncle were plotting. She felt safer when she convinced Toni to come around, sharing her bed, making her breakfast. Toni was her rock in this vast sea of indifference, keeping her steady.  
It was on one such morning that Cheryl woke early, fifteen minutes still to her first alarm. She huffed angrily, turning onto her shoulder and feeling for the spot where Toni slept. The duvet had been pulled back, and the sheets were cold. She’d left early, then. Cheryl recalled something from last night, Toni talking about checking on her granddad early in the morning. She wrapped herself in her fluffy pink robe and slipped her feet into her slippers. Cheryl left her room, resisting the urge to glance left and right. Clifford and Penelope were gone. There was no need to hide anymore.

She descended the stairs softly, peeking over the top of the banister to the open-air kitchen. In the living room, Nana Rose was propped in her chair, sleeping lightly. Bathed in the grey early morning light from the window, she looked indescribably ancient and wise. Cheryl smiled and skipped down the steps, detouring through the living room to tuck the blanket up around Nana’s chest. Her grandmother didn’t stir, only the flicker of movement beneath her eyelids and the rise and fall of her chest to indicate she was still alive. She smelled sickly sweet, her signature maple perfume. Cheryl tried not to choke, but did so anyway, covering her mouth delicately with a hand. She wasn’t much for the saccharine these days.

“Hey, you.” Toni grinned as Cheryl approached, pulling an apple from a basket on the counter. Cheryl smiled back.

“Toni! I thought you had elsewhere to be, darling?” She chirped, circling the counter and leaning down to press a kiss to Toni’s cheek.

“I got done early. You want pancakes?” Toni finished flipping a few medium-sized pancakes on the stovetop, sliding them onto a plate. Cheryl followed her hands, watching with curiosity. Toni reached into one of the cupboards and pulled a bottle of maple syrup from the lowest shelf. Cheryl almost flinched, though she knew it was silly. There was just something about that orchard, the rows and rows of maple trees with their gnarled branches and twisted trunks. Cheryl felt her appetite leave her as Toni upended the bottle and doused the pancakes in the sweet amber syrup. Her hand twitched at her side, and it took all her strength not to cover her nose.

“Oh-“ She breathed, unable to help herself.

“Something wrong? You love my pancakes.“ Toni set the bottle back down and turned to Cheryl, gently wrapping her arms around her waist.

“Sorry, dear. They look scrumptious, just-“ Cheryl bit her lip. “Not in the mood today, I suppose.” Or ever again. Toni nodded easily, like she knew not to press it.

“I was thinking- when was the last time you had people over?” Toni tilted her head to the side, glancing up at Cheryl with an eyebrow quirked.

“I’m not sure... It feels like an eternity, if I’m being honest.” Cheryl replied, looking away from Toni, up at the hairline cracks in the stucco ceiling. They moved outwards from a central point, thin spidery breaks in the even surface. They were congregated in groups, lines connecting pin-like holes, arranged like... like...

No. She hadn’t been herself lately, it was true. Not since that Vixen sleepover at Thistlehouse. Not since she was sent away. Cheryl looked at the apple in her hand instead. The waxy skin was a bright, almost surreal red.

“Then what about a get-together at Thistlehouse?” Toni prompted, voice gentle, like she was calming a scared animal. Her question was innocuous, so why did she say it like it would set Cheryl off? Cheryl’s eyes flicked back to Toni’s face, but all she saw reflected in Toni’s sparkling brown eyes was care and love. She smiled back, feeling her anxiety wash away. What had she done to deserve her? “Inner circle only, of course. To celebrate your triumphant return.” Toni winked. Cheryl couldn’t help but kiss her, putting a hand under her chin and tilting it upwards. She felt Toni smile into the kiss, and knew everything would be alright. Now was not the time for suspicion or doubt. Toni was in her corner, like she always was.

“I think that sounds divine. I’ll deal with Veronica and the Scoobies. Can you invite your Serpent compatriots?” Cheryl smiled, and for the first time in a while her mind went to thoughts of hors’doevres and party games, not maple orchards or another galaxy’s stars.

—-

Cheryl trotted down the linoleum hallway until she found the door to the student lounge. Veronica’s little entourage always holed up here between classes, talking in hushed whispers. She pulled open the door and found that today was no different. The four of them were sitting two-by-two on the couches, the remains of their bag lunches scattered across the table. Jughead was speaking low and quiet, glancing around the room like they might be overheard. Cheryl, however, had always been good at overhearing conversations she had no part of. It was her job as the school’s HBIC to keep tabs on everybody’s business, after all. Her heels clacked over to the vending machine, and her fingernail skated over the smooth glass, pretending to mull over the selection of granola bars. While Jughead was a lot of things, he had never been known to be a quiet talker. She heard him easily.

“-Livestock killings over in Greendale. Lots of them.” He said darkly. She could imagine the expression on his face, pinching his lips together. She never knew what Betty saw in in him. That girl was too pretty to be wasted on a two-bit wannabe bad boy.

“I asked at the Sisters of Quiet Mercy. Seems they’ve been refusing patients. There’s so many new admits that they’re over capacity.” Betty piped up, and Cheryl heard the sound of paper being shuffled. Obviously they’d been busy playing detective.

“Are we sure there isn’t a reasonable explanation for all of this? People don’t just... go crazy at random.” Archie, always the voice of reason, spoke next. He sounded vaguely confused, like he wasn’t sure which conversation he’d stumbled into. That boy only seemed to grasp about 60% of what was happening at any given time.

“Riverdale’s been under a lot of stress lately. Maybe people just aren’t coping.” Veronica said nonchalantly.

“People weren’t coping before. This is different. They’re catatonic, Veronica. Someone or something is making them that way.” Jughead was annoyed now, and Betty rustled the papers again.

“Yeah, and my dad got this weird package the other day. He was acting like a total freak about it. Wouldn’t tell my mom or me what it was.” She sighed heavily. To hear of more Cooper dysfunction didn’t surprise Cheryl in the slightest. They had originally been Blossoms, after all.

“It could be related.” Jughead jumped on this new piece of information, a dark excitement in his voice.

“Or it could be nothing! Guys, do we really need to do this right now? Can’t we wait until elections are over?” Archie raised his voice, sounding exasperated. Betty shushed him.

“If we wait, it’ll only get worse.” She shot back.

“And what are we supposed to do about it even if we do find something out? Call the cops? Hiram Lodge’s puppet government won’t listen to us.” Archie snapped. The group devolved into squabbling, all talking over each other.

“We’re not having this argument again, Archie. All in favor of investigating further?” Betty’s voice rose above the tumult, and the rest of the gang stopped still. Cheryl peeked over her shoulder, looking at Betty’s hand, gracefully raised. Jughead’s hand shot up immediately, glaring over at Archie, who crossed his arms and sat back in his seat. All eyes turned to Veronica, who sighed deeply, looking like she was thinking it over. Eventually, she slowly raised her hand. Archie huffed in annoyance, but he was outvoted.

“Good. We can start with those livestock killings. Jug, you and me after school?” Betty shoved the papers back into her bag, glancing up at the clock. Lunch was over in ten minutes. They all started to pack away their lunches in silence, Archie still clearly annoyed. Cheryl, upon realizing there was no more eavesdropping to be done, turned on her heel and walked over to their table. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and leaned down, rapping her knuckles twice on the table. The Scoobies looked up at the sound.

“Knock knock!” Cheryl chirped.

“Oh. Cheryl.” Jughead looked at her, dead-eyed. She glared back, then glanced at the rest of the group. Archie waved. Betty gave her a shy smile. Both of them looked distracted, like their thoughts were miles away, with the mystery in Greendale. Only Veronica seemed happy to see her, moving aside on the couch and patting the spot next to her.  
“What brings you here, Cher Bear?” She smiled dazzlingly when Cheryl sat. The air around her smelled lovely, warm and cinnamon-y like her Diabolique perfume. Cheryl took comfort in the smell, so different from the sickly sweetness that hung like a dark cloud over her home.

“Me and my darling are planning a little “Liberation” party at Thistlehouse this weekend. I’d like to extend an invite to all of you.” Cheryl reached into her purse, retrieving the little cream cards with the gold lettering. Her mother’s invitation cardstock, pilfered from her desk. Just another thing that was hers now that she wasn’t under Penelope’s control. She handed one to each of them, smiling big. Even to Jughead, who took the card with a pained grimace, looking with curiosity at her neat penmanship.

"I don’t know if we can-“ He started to speak, looking for an ally in his friends. Archie looked away from him with a scoff, smiling over at Cheryl instead. Betty elbowed Jughead sharply but subtly, like she didn’t want Cheryl to see.

“We’ll be there, Cheryl. Right, guys?” Veronica nodded, neatly slotting the invitation into her little embossed planner. The rest of the gang nodded along, maybe a little too enthusiastically. Veronica was the only one not acting strangely. Cheryl glanced up at the clock. 5 minutes to class.

“I ought to be on my way.” She gathered her purse and took Veronica’s face in her hands, kissing her softly on the cheek. Veronica smiled at her, patting her shoulder and returning with another light peck. A Paris goodbye. Veronica was one of the only people in this school with sophistication, and Cheryl was glad they were friends. It was often tiring, being abandoned in this town with the rubes. She stood, waving goodbye over her shoulder as she sauntered out.

—-

On Saturday night, the wind was biting. Rain lashed at the windows and drummed over the roof. Cheryl piled more logs into the hearth, watching the fire lick over them. Toni walked into the room, balancing a plate of cookies in one hand.

“They’re late. Hope the rain didn’t hold them up.” She said, casting a nervous glance out onto the lawn. Cheryl followed her gaze, and for a moment thought she saw a green light blink on in one of the barns. She stood up abruptly, staring out the window, but it was gone.

Before she could think too hard about it, the doorbell rang. Cheryl rushed to the door, taking a deep breath. She slapped on her best hostess smile and pulled the door open, struggling against the wind. Archie’s smiling face was the first to press into the gap. He helped her pull the door all the way open, putting his hand on Veronica’s shoulder to lead her inside. Veronica pulled Cheryl into a hug, pushing a bottle of champagne in her hands and then waltzing past her into the foyer. Toni met her in the hall, helping her get her coat off. There was a confusion for a moment, everyone struggling out of raincoats and stacking their boots on the mat. When that was done with, she and Toni shepherded the party into the dining room, and everyone sat around the table. As predicted, Jughead immediately began pilfering the cookies in the center. Some things never changed.

“Drinks?” Cheryl held up the bottle of champagne. Everyone smiled and nodded. She peeled the wrapper off, but Toni had to help her with the cork.

“How was the drive?” Toni asked, pulling at it with a corkscrew while Cheryl held the frosty bottle steady.

“Rainy as hell.” Jughead said flatly, mouth full of cookie. Betty nodded.

“Archie hit a deer. Or, we think it was a deer.” She said, furrowing her brow. Her jaw was working, like she was biting the inside of her cheek.

“It was so strange. We hit something, but when Archie went out to check, it must’ve ran away. There was nothing there.” Veronica continued, nails drumming a staccato rhythm on the lacquered tabletop. Was it her imagination, or did Veronica’s eyes have dark circles underneath them? The pressure finally gave, and the cork popped, flying a few feet and rolling under a table. Toni’s face lit up beautifully, making Cheryl smile too. They giggled together as they clumsily tried to hold the glasses at the right angle to catch the champagne spray.

“Some of those bucks are pretty hardy. They’ll take a car full frontal and walk it off.” Toni shrugged, passing the champagne glasses around.

“Yeah, I suppose.” Betty said, deep in thought, taking a sip of her drink. Cheryl took her place at the head of the table, the roaring fire at her back.

“Fangs is chronically late, and I suspect the rest of them are riding with him. Let’s play Secrets and Sins while we wait.” Toni called, pulling a chair up next to Cheryl.

“Ooh-“ Veronica’s face lit up with excitement.

“Here. To see who goes first.” Toni reached into one of the Monopoly boxes on the table, fishing out a die. It made a clattering noise as it rolled across the table, stopping in front of Archie. Cheryl suddenly realized he hadn’t spoken since they arrived. She looked at him inquisitively, and he returned her gaze with a small smile. Archie had never been the stoic type, so this was odd. He glanced down at the die.

“One.” He called. Toni pointed at Betty, at the opposite end of the table from Cheryl.

“Betty.” She grinned. Betty reached for her bag at her feet.

“I’ve got a big secret to show.” Her smile was impish as she tossed something up onto the table. It was a big book, roughly square and covered in a greyish leathery material. The spine bulged in an odd configuration, rising and falling in patterns. Cheryl stared at it, feeling her stomach sour.

“What... is that, Betty?” Her voice was raspy when she spoke, and she could feel her hands start to tremble. Everything in her rational mind was telling her to run, to put as much distance between herself and that thing as possible.

“I found it looking through my dad’s study. I think it’s what was in that weird package he got a couple days ago.” Betty didn’t seem affected by the book at all, nonchalantly lifting the cover and glancing at the contents. The pages were waxy and translucent, covered in scribblings and sketches.

“It’s... a book?” Jughead, ever the detective, leaned over it, arching a brow.

“More like a field journal. It’s gotta be old, though, this is real leather binding.” Betty nodded, running a finger tenderly over the spine, feeling the bumps. There was something grotesque about the way the binding stretched over the spine, wearing thin to reveal a stark whiteness underneath.

Not leather, Cheryl’s brain screamed. In the light of the fire, she could see tiny, downy hairs protruding from the binding. Skin. It looked like skin. Cheryl looked over at Toni, feeling panic rise in her throat, but her girlfriend was bent over that awful book, staring at the yellowing paper.

“Wow, look at all these illustrations. They look like medical diagrams, so exact.” She said in wonder, running a finger over the smooth page. Cheryl looked across the table for help. Archie was surveying the book with a mild interest, too, but he didn’t touch. His hands were balled tight on the table, the skin around his knuckles going white. Veronica was on Cheryl’s other side, and she was the only one who seemed at all unnerved by the strange tome. She was surveying it with a calculating wariness, nails still drumming on the tabletop.

“Guys. Maybe we shouldn’t-“ Cheryl pleaded, but Jughead cut her off.

“Listen to this inscription. ‘That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons even death may die.’” He said with wonder, and Cheryl watched as the air around him vibrated. She looked panicked among her friends, but nobody else seemed to notice the strange vibration.

“Forsythe.” Cheryl managed to stand, putting a hand on the book, a vain attempt to make them stop reading. The paper seemed to pulse under her fingers, though that may have just been her own racing heartbeat. Jughead curled his lip, an ugly expression she’d never seen him make before.

“Not everything is yours, Cheryl. You’ll get a turn in a minute.” He snapped, brushing her hand aside. She jerked back, dropping into her chair. Toni glanced back at her, concerned. Cheryl grabbed her arm, pulling her close to whisper in her ear.

“Toni, please. Tell them to stop.” She breathed, bottom lip trembling. Toni looked confused, but she stroked her fingers over Cheryl’s cheek comfortingly.

“What’s the matter, Cheryl? It’s just a book.” She asked, completely neutrally, like it really was just some strange field journal. Toni didn’t feel the same things Cheryl felt at all.

“It’s not. It’s evil, Toni. There’s something awful about that thing and I won’t have it in my house.” She could feel herself trying to hold back tears, begging Toni to understand. Her eyes were soft.

“Okay, baby. Hold on.” Toni nodded, letting go of Cheryl and turning to Jughead and Betty.

“Cheryl wants you to stop. Just put the book away, Jughead.” She put her hand over the words. Cheryl flinched, but Toni didn’t seem to notice anything strange.

“Why? Look at these symbols- the same things carved into those dead Greendale sheep. There’s a connection here, and a good detective wouldn’t abandon that.” Jughead argued back, peeling Toni’s fingers off the paper and pointing at an illustration. ‘Summoning Circles.’ Cheryl felt ill.

“Maybe, but you’re not a fucking detective, Jughead, you’re a sixteen year old boy with an ego the size of the Washington Monument-“ Toni put her hands on her hips, glaring at Jughead.

“Hey! Don’t talk to him like that!” Betty snapped at Toni, hopping to her feet. The chair she was sitting on screeched back over the floorboards.

“You’re here on Cheryl’s invitation. Don’t be rude, Betty. Back off.” Veronica called, and suddenly everybody was standing, breaking out into an argument. Cheryl couldn’t make out individual words, just yelling. In the chaos, she reached across the table and snapped the book shut, picking it up and finally taking a good look at the cover. It was blank, no title or author. When her fingers touched the binding, she understood. Sewn into the spine of the book were human vertebrae, that was what made that strange ridged pattern. They glowed white where they were breaking through the skin. Cheryl choked down her gag reflex and turned on her heel, impulsively whipping the revolting thing into the fire. A few seconds before it hit the flames, Betty looked up.

“CHERYL-“ She called, but the book was already burning. The leather began to char immediately, and a sickly sweet smoke started to fill the room. Everyone rushed towards the fire, crowding against Cheryl to see the pages be consumed. The old vellum was laughably flammable, and the whole thing burnt to a crisp in seconds. Cheryl felt a smile creep onto her lips as she inhaled the sweet smoke.

“What the hell did you do that for, Cheryl, that was our only evidence-“ Jughead was screaming in her ear, sounding especially panicked. His eyes had something strange in them, a weird reflection. Cheryl realized his pupils were blown, so dilated that his iris almost looked black.

“No, It wasn’t! It was vile!” She said hotly.

“You can’t just go around Fahrenheit 451-ing other people’s property!” Betty chimed in, eyes flicking between Cheryl and whatever remained of the tome, shrivelling to nothingness in the fire. She felt the eyes of everyone on her, and something in her chest snapped.

“You’re not listening to me! That thing shouldn’t exist. You don’t understand because you’re just- just foolish little kids! You’re snivelling ignorant brats playing detective!” She snarled, hearing the words coming from her own mouth but feeling them in her whole body. She was vaguely aware of what she was saying, but it was like the words were coming from somewhere else.

“Baby-“ Toni reached for her arm, but Cheryl pulled back. She was a conduit, a vessel. The missive uncurled in her chest, words coming faster and faster.

“It was fine when it was just murder. When it was just Jason in the river or Svenson killing sinners. But that- that’s real. That’s powers beyond our understanding, things that could crush you like ants.” Cheryl pointed a finger at the last ashes of the book. Everyone was staring at her now, with expression that ran the full spectrum from worried to furious.

“What the hell do you know about any of that? You’re just a kid, same as us.” Jughead crossed his arms and leaned back on his heels.

“You haven’t seen the things I’ve seen, Jughead. You can’t even begin to comprehend that book. Leave it alone, or get the Hell out of my house.” When the last words fell from her mouth, Cheryl felt exhausted. She stumbled back a bit, clutching her eyes as the dam broke and she started sobbing. With tears clouding her vision, she pushed Jughead aside and ran past him, taking the stairs two at a time. She could hear the room erupt in an argument after her, as she slammed the door to her bedroom and threw herself facedown into her pillow.

Scarcely a minute later, somebody knocked on her door.

“It’s me, Cheryl. Can I come in?” Toni said, muffled through the door.

“Yes.”

Cheryl heard Toni step into the room, sit on the edge of the bed. Her hand came to rest between Cheryl’s shoulder blades, rubbing soothing circles.

“I’m sorry I lost my temper.” Cheryl turned her head, wiping her eyes on the pillowcase.

“What’s going on with you, Cheryl?” Toni looked desolate, stroking her fingers over Cheryl’s shoulder now.

“I don’t know... It doesn’t even make sense to me.” Cheryl laughed quietly, hearing how stupid she sounded.

“Just try me.” Toni sighed.

“I’ve been... seeing things. Hearing things. I have these awful, vivid dreams that only go away with sleeping pills... I’m terrified, Toni.” Cheryl sat up, pulling the strap of her top up on her shoulder. Toni patted her arm gently, but her eyes were wide with fear.

“Oh, Cheryl. I’m sorry. Everything must be really stressful right now.” She soothed.

“I’m not crazy, Toni. I mean it. Something is happening to me. To everyone.” Cheryl shook her head, wiping her nose with her hand and glancing out at the barn, hidden by the pouring rain.

“I don’t think you’re crazy, but-“ Toni started.  
“But.” Cheryl narrowed her eyes.

“But I do know that in Riverdale, nothing is really what it seems. I’ll help you get to the bottom of this, whatever it is.” Toni smiled, taking her hand. Cheryl leaned to the side until she could rest her head on Toni’s shoulder. Toni wrapped an arm around her, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

“Like Betty and Jughead, solving mysteries?” Cheryl chuckled. Toni laughed too, she could feel it vibrate in her throat.

“Absolutely.”

—-

A few minutes later, Toni took her hand and led her back down the stairs. The group had sat back down at the table, and everyone looked up at her when she entered the room.

“Hi, Cheryl. Feeling okay?” Veronica was the first to speak, giving Cheryl one of her bright smiles. Cheryl smiled tentatively back.

“Fine, thank you.” She replied, taking her seat at the table again.

“Jughead has something he wants to say to you.” Veronica looked over at Jughead, who looked sheepish, like a child being scolded. He looked like he wasn’t going to speak for a moment, retreating into himself, but Betty elbowed him under the table.

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. I should’ve listened when you told me to put it away. My bad.” He twiddled his thumbs as he spoke, not quite meeting Cheryl’s eyes, but his voice sounded genuine. From the front of the house, the doorbell rang again. Cheryl began to stand, but Toni out a hand on her shoulder, gently nudging her back down. She headed for the foyer alone, leaving Cheryl at the table.

“I’m sorry too. I never wanted to hurt you, cousin.” Betty chimed in, tilting her head innocently. They made quite the pretty picture, looking at Cheryl apologetically. She wasn’t sure what had happened in that moment by the fire, when they’d looked furious. But whatever it was that had made Jughead lash out was gone from his eyes.

“Apology accepted.” Cheryl said softly. Veronica nodded, pleased. At the front of the house, Toni opened the door to a chorus of voices, chattering happily. Fangs was the first to stomp into the dining room, putting his hands on his hips and surveying the people at the table.

“Really weird energy in here.” He pulled a face, stepping over to the table and setting a bottle of rum down among the snacks and party games. It made an audible thud, and Cheryl flinched slightly. Quickly, Kevin and Sweet Pea joined him, and Cheryl set about finding chairs for everybody.

“Do you want to play Monopoly? You can have the Scottie.” Toni reached for the blue box on the table, deftly extracting it from the tilting tower of board games. Cheryl smiled and nodded.

“Ronnie? You want to be Banker, I presume?” She turned to Veronica, who nodded, all business.

“You know me so well. Sit down, friends. I’ll deal.” She addressed the room, and started to count the colorful paper bills with an enviable concentration. Cheryl looked up as someone sat in the chair next to Toni.

“Kevin?” She blinked. She didn’t remember inviting him.

“Oh. I tagged along with Fangs. Hope you don’t mind.” He smiled shyly, waving over his shoulder at Fangs next to him, already engaged in a heated argument with Sweet Pea.

“Of course not. You’re always welcome.” Cheryl smiled. In truth, she felt a little bad about not inviting him. He had cast her as Carrie, after all.

“By the way, I was out on the porch and I think your cat is hiding under there. I guess was really scared ‘cause of all the thunder, so I couldn’t get him to come out. He was hissing up a storm.” Kevin shrugged, reaching for a cookie. He gestured with his free hand to the front door. Cheryl wrinkled her nose.

“Kevin, we don’t have a cat.”  



End file.
